


tell me everything you know about optimus prime

by ironiccowboykink



Category: Transformers Prime, Transformers: Prime
Genre: (side eye emoji), Dominance, F/M, Let's hope I don't fuck this up so badly I can't even work the title drop in, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other, Praise Kink, Reader Insert, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Rough Sex, Starscream is Dramatic tm, Typical Canon Violence, Violence, Yes i like transformers now, at people following my fics I am so sorry I can never keep in one fandom or finish any fic ever, electric play, electroerotic stimulation, this is so I can get it out of my system
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: You have been working with the Autobots for a while now— if you could even call it working, anyway— and the closer you've been getting to Optimus, the hairier things have been getting on the streets as you skirt Decepticons. Damn if you'll be stopped, though.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fortuna Primigenia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896355) by [SS_Shitstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SS_Shitstorm/pseuds/SS_Shitstorm). 



You were walking to KO Burger from school when it happened.

Two cars rolled up to your side, blocking both lanes on the road. One was a deep red, sleek and smooth, and the other was some kind of truck, you think. You never really knew what Breakdown turned into, but it didn't really matter because _you recognized them, and **they knew you.**_

“Shit,” you cursed, trying to keep your gaze ahead. Fuck fuck fuck. Damn it, you knew telling Arcee to go pick up Jack first and that you'd just "meet her there" (what the fuck??!!?) was a terrible idea and now you’re going to die. Okay, look calm. Look nonchalant.

Knockout revved his engine and _oh fuck he’s turning around._

You turned on your heel, breaking into a dead sprint. “Are you really trying to outrun a car, little girl?” Knockout chuckled behind you, he and Breakdown’s tires skidding on the semi-dirt road.

Fear spiked through your chest. You thank whoever is out there that you hadn’t made it too far from the more populous part of the city, making a beeline for an alley way and shouting a particularly outraged “FUCK YOU!” back to the pair.

You dove behind a dumpster, shakily checking your pockets for your phone, fumbling with the damn thing once you found it, trembling like a leaf. “Ratchet,” you murmured. “Ratchet, Ratchet.” The phone rang, and then rang again, before abruptly hanging up. “Fucking _Decepticons_ and their fucking _Decepticon_ signal scramblers, god damn it.” 

Taking in a careful breath and closing your eyes, you steeled yourself before looking around the dumpster and seeing—

No one. (Thank God.)

“Okay. I’m being chased by Knockout and Breakdown. This is fine,” You muttered, casting a quick peek around the alleyway before heading away from the way you came. If you were lucky, you’d get away from the Decepticons and get an adequate signal to call from. If you were luckier somebody would already be on your way to save your stupid ass.

The rumble of engines echoed down your increasingly winding escape path, then the _whirr_ of a transforming mech, then the _thump-thump_ of your shoes hitting cracked asphalt, and then a sob you didn't know you were holding in. So you were scared. Anybody else would be if they were being hunted by two infamous destructo-bots. This is fine, definitely fine. Absolutely—

“Leaving so soon?” Knockout drawled, extending his servos towards you as he kneeled. “You know it’s rude to leave a party early.”

The blood drained from your body, pooled in your leaden feet. “Ah, um, well, you see…” The Decepticon raised an optical ridge as you stammered, and then roared an outraged “HEY!” when you bolted. You noted that you were doing a lot of running today.

“Stop running from me you infernal human!” 

You didn’t grace him with a reply, which didn’t matter anyway, because his servos caught the tips of your hair as he formed a crude fist and lifted you to meet his optics. “Let me go!” You hissed, fingernails scrabbling at Knockout’s servos to alleviate the pain.

"Look, Breakdown," he laughed, looking at the 'con as he struggled to fit through an alley adjacent to meet you both. "her optics are leaking.” Knockout pulled you away to show you off like some sort of prize, still hissing and spitting and crying. “Do you think I hurt— _ARE YOU KIDDING ME?_ "

In a stroke of probably-not-genius, you yanked your house keys (again, thank god you always carry them) down the closest part of the mech you could reach, which happened to be the asshole’s shoulderplate. “I just had that repainted!” He growled at you, dropping you unceremoniously several feel to the ground.

You hit the ground with a thud, groaning and clutching your pounding head. You pulled several broken strands of hair out, and your ankle stung with a vengeance you've never known. Your whole body ached.

“Do something like that again and I’m dropping you from a little bit higher next time.” You glared up at Knockout, who was—

"Are you pouting? Are you seriously pouting right now? Are all the Decepticons babies?” You were the one hurt here and you weren't even complaining about it! _Fucking Decepticons. Megatron's hired a bunch of wimps._

“Babies?” Knockout echoed, looking to Breakdown, who just shrugged.

“Listen, just shut up and come with us.” Breakdown rumbled, as if that was a perfectly acceptable thing for a Decepticon to ask a human aligned with Autobots.

“Dude, fuck no,” you replied, as if that was a perfectly acceptable thing to say to two short-tempered Decepticons.

Breakdown’s lip plating twisted as you staggered to your feet, wiping a mix of blood and snot and tears off your face with the sleeve of your jacket. “Megatron requests your presence.”

“Okay, well, Megatron can suck my aft,” you began, side-eyeing a smaller alley the ‘cons probably wouldn’t be able to follow you to. 

Breakdown and Knockout shared a look before breaking out into laughter, the latter slamming a giant servo against the ground in his joy. “Oh, he would love to hear that, wouldn’t he—”

Knockout blinked into the empty space you were once in. “Oh, she’s gone.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get up to date, up Ratchet's ass, and some clothes.

“Well,” Knockout began, watching you scramble away, “I don’t plan on explaining this one.”

\---------

Your heart slammed against your ribs, jumped in your throat, stuttered as you skid to a stop. “Sweet Primus I hope I’m far enough away,” you wheezed, whipping out your phone and dialing the number to call Ratchet.

It rang once. Twice. Three—

“Hello?”

“Oh, oh my God! Ratchet! Finally! I’ve been calling you forever! Knockout and Breakdown have been chasshhing me for a while now, and—”

“What?”

“I told Arshee to go get Jack first and I’d just meet her back at KO Burger or whatever ishh called—”

_“What?”_

“Lishen! I scratched Knockout’s finish with my keysh and told Megatron he can suck my aft—”

“You _WHAT?”_ Ratchet roared with laughter through the phone, which you wisely held away from your ear.

“Thatssh not important right now! Someone needs to come get me.” Adrenaline could only keep you awake for so long, but you were pretty sure you fractured your rib and broke an ankle. Blood covered your face like a sheet, the wrinkles in the fabric marked by your tear tracks. (”Thanks for dropping me on my face, Knockout.”)

Your knees were skinned pretty badly and your hands were messed up even worse— you chipped your fingernails (and were also missing a nail) and your hands were stained red. You assume that was from trying to get a grip on solid metal, but who knows. You were doing a lot of scrabbling limping your way into this side alley. 

“Yeah, uh, I probably won't shhtay awake for very long,” you slurred, slumping backwards as the world tilted.

“I’m going to get you,” Ratchet said, but his voice sounded tinny and far away.

Your phone clacked as it hit the ground, and you weren't even aware you dropped it. Your eyelids drooped, and you said “yeah,” but it suddenly occurred to you that Ratchet probably hadn’t heard you. 

The alley around you was getting dark and spinning and duplicating, but you saw hands, duplicating and triplicating and quadruplicating and then reaching for you. 

You weren’t sure who that was. You sluggishly lifted your fists, beating down on whoever was picking you up right now. 

Or maybe not.

\--------

You jolted awake, but immediately regretted it because damn, your head, wow. Hurts much like you. A Grade A Bitch.

“Hey, woah! Sit still.” Ratchet’s hand waved idly over your battered body, the other still typing on the holographic screens. “Nurse Darby said you shouldn't move around very much.”

“Nurse… Darby?”

“Yes. Jack’s “mom.”” Dude didn't even do the air quotes but you could fuckin hear it. Bastard.

“...mom…” you parroted, hissing through your teeth as you held your aching, bandaged head. Your body pulsed with the feeling of being vigorously shaken. “How long was I out?”

Ratchet finally turned to face you, giving you a scrutinizing glance. “Three very long cycles— don't worry, you're stable." He hummed. "Maybe I should tell her you are having some cognitive issues as well.” The humor in his voice didn’t escape you.

You twisted up your face, blowing Ratchet as a raspberry and slipping off the cold metal berth, though it was more dangling awkwardly a couple feet from the air before Ratchet helped set you down. “Dude, what did I do when you picked me up?”

“Well, _dude,_ you slumped over in my servos. I believe you were fully unconscious when I picked you up, but you were murmuring something incoherently.” Ratchet paused, then tacked on, “You highly resembled a corpse.”

That is definitely not what you thought he was going to say. You remembered a valiant attempt to escape from a potential attacker as you lost consciousness, but that is apparently very much not what happened. (And if anyone asks, you’ll conveniently remember otherwise). “Anyway, where’s everyone?”

“I don’t know.” (He didn’t even stop typing. Or face you again.)

“Can you go look?”

“Absolutely not. I’m getting incredibly important work done here.”

You looked at his screen. It was just Cybertronian math(?) gibberish to you, but you've had your suspicions that Ratchet does absolutely nothing all day unless someone asks, and if you're going to be bed ridden with pompous Doc Bot all day you’re going to take every chance you've got to drive him straight up the wall.

“Looks like you’re just typing frag-all, Ratch.” He let out a dissatisfied snort, fingers flying faster over the keys. "To you, maybe."

You smiled, asking, “Are you sure you’re doing anything at all?”

He huffed this time, shifting as if to prevent you from seeing the screen, typing even faster.

You walked (limped would be more accurate) next to Ratchet, trailing a hand along his tibluen for support. (You also heard the click of ex-venting.)

“Hmmm, looks like garbage to me, Doc Bot. Do you stand up here all day trying to act like you’re getting stuff done when you’re really just typing the same four words—”

“Don’t you have anything better to do? And don’t call me Ratch. Or _Doc Bot.”_ He snorted, lightly shaking his leg as if to shoo you off.

“Absolutely not! I'm getting incredibly important work done here.” You chirped, drawing another rumble of disatisfaction from Ratchet. “I have nothing better to do than sit on my aft all day. Don’t you want to know what happened to me yesterday?”

“You told Megatron he could “kiss your—””

 _“Besides_ that!"

“Knockout and Breakdown chased you through an alley.”

You opened your mouth, ready to respond, but promptly snapped it shut. “Well… yeah. That summarizes it pretty well. Don’t you want to whip up some theory about it or should I keep sitting here?”

Ratchet paused momentarily, looking down at you before resuming his typing. (You're still convinced he's not really doing anything.) “You’re branded, obviously. A weak, fleshy human, easy to break in Decepticon hands. Why wouldn't they want to take you?”

“Oh.” You guess you never thought about it that way, and as if sensing your discomfort, Ratchet said, (rather awkwardly) “But we’ll protect you.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “Of course! How could I ever doubt you? You guys did such a good job today.”

“That wasn’t our fault, (Y/N).” Ratchet scowled at you, saying, “You shouldn’t have told Arcee to go pick up Jack and then walked somewhere without supervision.”

It was your turn to scowl now because he was definitely right. You knew this, but damn if you’re telling the asshole he’s right about anything, even though he usually always is.

“No.”

“No?” The incredulity in his voice was enough to make you snort (and provided a pretty adorable flustered Ratchet visual).

“No, you’re wrong. ‘Cause I said so.”

“What— WHAT?— Absolutely not— that is not how being right works— you, you know that I’m— you know what, (Y/N)—” He let out several puffs of ex-venting, rubbing his face with a servo. “I don’t have time to deal with you. Go change your frame covering or something.”

“Where am I supposed to get my clothes from, Genius?”

“If you don’t have spare frame covering stocked in here by now, that’s quite the error on your part.”

Fuck. Right again. If you keep scowling your face is gonna get stuck that way.

“Well _frag me,_ then Ratchet! Bridge me home and stand guard or something if nobody else is here!” 

“You want me to stand in front of your house while you… uh,” You were just about to ask Ratchet if he was okay since he was venting a little harder than before when the bridge opened and he was ushering you to it. And maybe drooling a little. "Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t let someone as injured as you take the ground portal, but—” 

Ratchet paused. Let out a ex-vent that sounded a lot like a sigh. Flickered his gaze from you to the ground bridge. “These are definitely normal circumstances.”

“Ummm… you okay, Doc Bot?” You twisted carefully over his servos, raising an eyebrow at him. He nodded, sounding almost forlorn? Disappointed? Mournful? when he turned to you and said, “Do you want your clothes now or later?”

You mulled over it for a moment. Ratchet said you couldn’t go through the portal, though you suppose he couldn't stop you from limping in on after him. If you weren't going through, then Ratchet was going through (only if you picked the now option though), and he was going to have to find a way to get into your house and root through all your clothes and yeah, no, that didn’t sound like a very good option. You weren't sure if really wanted Ratchet in your house, but you were definitely sure staying in bloody and ripped clothing was not something you really wanted. You also weren't there to make him flustered.

You were also curious as to how he was going to get your clothes. Was he gonna rip out your window, or like… shrink into a minicon, or…

“Ratchet, how are you even going to get in my house if you're getting my clothes? I swear to god, if you damage anything in my house—”

He cut you off with a weary sigh, motioning for silence with his servo. “I can place some of my mass in an alternate dimension for storage temporarily. Essentially, I will appear smaller to you and everyone else, which is how I will make my way into your home.”

He was saying some other things, but you stopped listening halfway through because you were automatically subjected to the image of tiny Ratchet and nearly god damn lost it while he prattled on. You thought of pros and cons…. pros and cons….

Pros:  
Tiny Ratchet. Tiny, tiny cute adorable Ratchet. Cuter than usual Ratchet.

Cons:  
Ratchet, in your house.  
Tiny Ratchet, in your house, rummaging through your room.  
Tiny Ratchet, in your house, rummaging through your _underwear drawers._ (If you played _that_ cardright, that could work nicely to your favor.)

The answer was pretty clear.

“Bring me back sweatpants, darling!”

\-----------

So Tiny Ratchet wasn't that Tiny. So what if he still towered over you at what, eight feet? Nine feet? (Too many feet.) 

So what if you remembered too late your door was nearly wide enough for Ratchet’s wide berth because you were still rubbing goosebumps out of your skin from the close-up of his pretty blue optics?

So what if the way he looked over you made you feel deliciously small and so what if it made you wonder just how big Tiny Optimus was?

So what if... so what if... if… uh. You lost your train of thought. The image of you dwarfed by your two favorite bots dominates your brain.

You only hoped that nobody would come back while you waited for Ratchet, and you hoped they were okay.  
\----------  
So everyone came back. Everyone!!! Oh you're so glad!!! Some a little later than others but they all definitely came back and god they are fucking _clamoring_ for your attention. It's nice to know they were wishing you good health but holy shit, you took your bra and your underwear off earlier so you could hobble to a bathroom and wash them, and they were still drying!! So now you're naked!!! Under your clothing!!!! Your ripped clothing!! (Everyone is naked under their clothing but you just happen to be especially naked so!) Waiting for Ratchet!!!! Who is taking a much longer time than necessary to bring you four items of clothing!!!!!!!!!!

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Optimus’s voice cuts out above the rest, and you heave a sigh, curling yourself a little bit smaller. Ripped clothes, three kids, five bots and no underwear. This is fine. 

“Peachy keen!” You chirp, though perhaps a bit more aggressively and sugary than you would have liked. Arcee raises an optical ridge and Bumblebee lets a particularly humored beep.

“I am glad you are feeling well,” he rumbled, completely and adorably oblivious to your pain.

“What happened?” Miko was all in your face now, bursting your eardrums and blinking excitedly like you hadn’t already told her the story three times before, which you recounted again because she asked.

Jack and Raf shared a look. _A_ look, one might say. A look you didn't like because it meant the little twerps knew something. Or were just realizing it.

“Hey Miko, I think I need to brush my teeth, and Raf would love your help,” Jack said, saluting your way and dragging Miko off. 

“That doesn’t even make any sense, Jack!” Miko complained, but nonetheless let herself be taken away. You're also pretty sure she winked at you. "Who's teeth am I brushing?"

You turn your gaze to Optimus, now, a cold shiver of relief raising goosebumps on your skin now that the kids were gone. “Well, I think I’ve had. A day today, so. Quite a fucking day.” You give the three of them a look. _A_ look, one could say. A look that says “we're all aware that I'm wearing blood and asphalt studded rags. It's wonderful. I know. Let's not talk about it."

Bumblebee beeps at you. Arcee just smiles, and you think she's trying not to laugh, but Optimus is staring quite intently at you and you think he wants to say something.

“Uh, yes.” You focus back on Bumblebee, because you have no fucking clue what the hell he just said to you.

He beeps again, a tad bit more urgently, and Arcee motions towards her chassis, and oh my god there is a giant FUCKING blood spot in the front of your shirt. And several rips. Jesus, did Knockout fucking _drag_ you when he shook you around like a chew toy? Realistically it's not that big, and neither are the rips, like, fist sized, but it is smack dab in the center of your chest. 

You give it a sniff. “Well, at least it isn't fresh.”

\------  
Ratchet finally bridges back in a few minutes later. You were chatting quietly to Arcee and Bumblebee, Optimus idling by Ratchet’s workstation. Also probably typing complete jibberish. They have so much in common.

And you? You are so ready to ream Ratchet the _fuck out_ for taking so long. Or, at least, you _were_ ready, because he just handed you some clothes and now you've passed ready and hit Maximum Overdrive.

You look at the clothes Ratchet delicately offered you, turning a biting glare from him to the clothing more often than the clothing.

So he gave you.... A loose pair of sweatpants and a tight shirt. (You can make this work, but you wouldn't be you if you didn't pitch a fit about it first.)

So, the sweatpants. Your favorite pair, really, but they had a tendency to hang off your hips. That wouldn’t have been such a problem if Ratchet had brought you any _god damn underwear,_ and an infection from dirty panties was not how you were going to roll, so you had washed them in your sink and were waiting for them to dry when Ratchet came back with all but _fuck all clothing._

Oh, and the shirt. It was an old one you kept around for sentiment and pajamas. It was also kind of small. The “choke your neck, cross your arms over your chest” kind of small. Which also wouldn’t be a problem if Ratchet brought you a non-destroyed bra. And also if you also hadn’t destroyed the neckline so badly years ago in a fit of anger.

“What the hell, Ratchet?! What did you think the two extra drawers full of other clothing were for? _Decoration??!?”_ You threw your arms up in exasperation, yanking the items from his servos.

He flinched, rubbing a servo anxiously behind his neck-plating. His silence was answer enough.

“God, what am I supposed to do? Skirt the kids all day? You’ve been on Earth for how long? You've been around me for how long? You couldn't figure out that I’d need _FUCKING UNDERWEAR?”_

“Well, I—”

“Fuckin… what am I supposed to do about Optimus?!” (A little voice inside your head whispers, "Ratchet’s going to see you like this too,” but you definitely don’t think that’s bad.) “I can’t just look the hot-to-trot millennia old, ancient and wise robot boss of a rebellion in the eye looking considerably more slutty than I usually do!” You could feel yourself sweat. 

“The hot-to-trot… what?” Ratchet said, and Bumblebee beeped in a way that reminisced laughter, and Arcee just straight up laughed. You made a mental note to lower your voice as you blushed a deep red.

“Do you want… different clothing?”

You sniffed, turning your head away from him. “Of course I do. But I don't trust you anymore. You've broken my heart. I’ll just wear them.”

“Well, I suppose, then,—”

“Ratchet, I’m never going to able to face them ever again!” He looked at you with the air of someone used to dealing with theatrics, specifically whisper-shouted, exaggerated _“how could you do this to me, Ratchet?"_ theatrics, but he was also still muttering “hot-to-trot,” so it was kind of lost on you.

\------

Optimus hummed quietly from across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for this one, folks. It's kind of short Even though I Had Much To Say. I considered splitting it in two chapters, but I guess I'm just going to work on... chapter 3. I hope I can keep this from being absolute shit and keep y'all reading. I also hope I can keep a update schedule that isn't super sporadic. Hope my goofs are good ones.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have to apologize before y'all start reading. It took me forever to write this chapter because this week was certainly... a week, i guess. kicked my ass quite a few times. i spent a lot of time re-reading fortuna primigenia to get a taste for good narrative, and again, i'm sorry that it isn't very good, especially towards the end. i spent as much time as i could working on it but I ran out of steam and i have been sick every day this week and it hasn't been letting up. I really hope chapter four makes up for chapter three. i promise it won't be all goofs and giggles. we'll get there eventually.

So maybe Ratchet didn’t completely screw the pooch on this one.

You admire yourself in the mirror, blood and dirt free, tracing your fingers along the sliver of belly the shirt exposed. The shirt was long sleeve, too, and the image of low gray sweatpants and basically-crop-top complimented you quite nicely, if you were to say so yourself. Luckily, the bruisings just made you look more badass.

“And I do say so myself,” you trilled, feeling a special kind of giddy seeing how nice you looked. Maybe you should let Knockout beat you up more often. It did wonders for your hair, even if some of it was still wrapped by bandages..

You fluffed your hair one more time, careful to mind your wrappings, and blew a kiss to yourself in the mirror before slipping out of the bathroom. 

Ghosting a hand gently against the wall, you made your way back over to the medical bay, careful to mind your healing ankle and especially eager to catch Ratchet’s attention. (And hopefully run into Optimus on the way there.) that thought, though, brought you pause. When did it go from teasing them in good-natured fun to teasing Ratchet because you loved to see him squirm, or teasing Optimus because he never really knew what to say but always managed to sound like such a diplomat, or because Ratchet was cute when he stammered, or pleasing Ratchet and Optimus because you loved to see them smile?

You frowned. When did you have a crush on them?

You weren’t going to dance around it. That wasn’t you. Loving a robot didn’t scare you, loving two robots didn’t scare you— you certainly had a crush on two before— it didn’t seem weird to you, but not knowing when or how seemed a bit… daunting. It seemed… scary, and you didn’t know who you were scared for. 

The Decepticons already came for you once, and you’re bearing the marks from the considerably uneven fight right now. What would you do if they got to you? What would you do if Decepticons got to _them?_ They couldn’t always be there for you, and there was so little you could do for them. You could feel a lump rise in your throat, your fists clenching at your side, the idea of either of them being stolen from you sickening. 

Decepticons made your affection dangerous. 

Would that even stop you, though?

There you stood, mulling over the moment you fell deep down the rabbit hole, mulling over the gravity of this realization. _I guess,_ you think, _now I should focus on what to do now that I’ve finally realized it._ Your heart fluttered, a dull ache blooming in your chest. What _are_ you going to do now that you’ve realized it?

“(Y/N). Do you require assistance?”

You whipped around— maybe a tad too fast for your bruised body, you noted, as pain spiked up your chest. “Oh, Optimus— no, no, I’m okay.” You grinned sheepishly, hand moving to rub circles your aching side. “I just was lost in thought for a moment there.” Your heartbeat picked up a little, catching your breath in your throat. Here he was, Optimus Prime, in all his glory.

Optimus blinked his blue optics at you, humming low in a way you believed to be acknowledgment, gaze sweeping warmly up and down your form. “If you are heading to the medical bay, I would be able to assist you on your way there.” He kneeled to lay a servo out in front of you, mouth pressed in a hint of a smile. “You must be careful not to slow your recovery, (Y/N). It would be... unfortunate if your physical ability was limited due to injury."

Your heart fluttered again as you stepped into his hand, let out a quiet sigh as you sunk down. Your body ached, pulsed red with heat, and Optimus’s cool servos pulled a quiet sigh from you as you melted in them. You clutched his thumb, turning your gaze up to him. “I could’ve made it on my own,” you grumbled, a bit clumsily so as your mouth had suddenly ran dry. “but thank you.” the sincerity in your tone made your voice quieter than you would have liked.

“I have no doubt that you could have, (Y/N).” Optimus lifted you slowly, ever so slowly, like if he moved you too fast you would shatter. You weren't made of glass, certainly not, but the care the gentle giant was taking just to get you to the med bay made you blush a deep red all over again. He was always so sweet with you. “But there are always others to rely on.”

When you two arrived, Optimus set you level with the berth. Ratchet turned away from the data he was entering on a pad to hum a hello at you and Optimus, pressing a key with a special sort of Ratchet-finality that you adored as he made his way over to you. 

“And how are we feeling today?” He asked, servos gently brushing up your side and through your hair, nudging your bandages, leaving trails of heat where his digits skirt your skin through your clothes. “No more bleeding? Any pain? Have you been practicing the “yoga” I have provided?”

Sheepishly you grinned, shrugging. The image of the very thick packet of yoga poses Ratchet so graciously provided sitting abandoned in the corner of your bedroom made you feel guilty, albeit not so much so. (You weren’t going to do much about it, though. Solo-riding downward dog was more your style.) “Of course, Ratchet,” you assured, continuing, “and I moved around a bit too quickly earlier. My ribs hurt, but my ankle’s a-okay.” 

“I don’t know much about human physiology, but I will have to assess your physical state myself,” Ratchet said, leaning back and giving you a cursory sweep, servos dipping carefully into the flesh of your sides. “perhaps take it slower around the base, and be careful when you exercise. And see me tomorrow,” he added, letting out a burst of air from his ex-vents. “for a checkup.” You ignored the way your face flushed.

“If you are unsure, Ratchet, we can always seek assistance from Nurse Darby,” Optimus said, keeping his gaze squarely on you. “Or, if not her, learn more about human biology ourselves.”

Ratchet snorted, glaring at Optimus from the corner of his eye. “I think my assessment was well enough, thank you very much.”

This time Optimus did look at Ratchet, a hint of a smile ghosting his face. “Of course, old friend.”

“His “assessments” are great with everything but clothing, Optimus. Don’t be fooled!” You pointed an accusing finger at Ratchet, resisting the urge to smile. “Look at this! If I raise my arms too high I’ll flash everyone in the base.”

You throw your arms up (carefully, mind you) for emphasis, the cool air from the medical bay raising small gooseflesh on the strip of belly you exposed. You threw a wink Ratchet’s way, laughing, “D’y’know how many dress codes I’d get for wearing this?”

“Optimus, I assure you that I did not intend to bring clothes inappropriate for this setting!” Ratchet spluttered, unable to tear his gaze from you, frame venting hard enough to let out a slight, somehow embarrassed whistle. “And it didn’t help she only told me to bring back “sweatpants.”” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Hardly my fault if I don’t know what it is.”

Optimus cocked his head, staring at you with an intensity you had seen few times before. You have been on the receiving end of such looks quite a bit lately... “Then I suppose it is a good thing the children will not be here for most hours of the day.”

It's your turn to cock your head now— only in confusion.

“And,” he continued, the growing smile on his faceplate making your heart beat like a caged bird, “you will not have to worry about looking at the “hot-to-trot” rebellion leader in the eye with Jack, Miko and Raf underfoot.” 

Your jaw dropped, heat swirling under your skin as you flushed red from head to toe. “You— _I_ —”

Ratchet shared a look with you before straight up laughing. Bastard. 

It was official. These two would be the death of you and your poor little heart.

\--------

After you squawked your mortification, only to be met with more laughter, you fell back into the berth with a huff, letting the cool soak into your skin. Ratchet went back to his data pad, the dull _tap-tap_ of his servos hitting the screen providing ambiance next to the _whir_ of Ratchet and Optimus’s chassis’, the quiet thump-thump of your heart, the quieter slide of skin as you twiddled your thumbs together, gaze falling back to the two bots you shared the room with.

Optimus seemed to be enjoying the quiet, half lidded optics lazily monitoring the communications hub. He looked peaceful, halfway to a much needed recharge. You think he has always appreciated quiet moments like these, lulls between battles and lulls between patrols. You appreciate these moments too, but for an entirely different reason.

“Optimus!” Arcee’s profile pulls up on the hub, the sound of fighting heavy in the background. “I need backup. Knockout and Starscream ambushed me on patrol. I can handle it for a little while but they said they want—” Her voice cut out abruptly, and all three of you shoot up, your blood running cold.

Alarm pricked at your skin, made your fingertips twitch. Optimus turned to Ratchet. “Lock onto her coordinates and open a ground bridge to her location immediately.”

“Already on it.” Ratchet replied, gesturing in the direction of the portal. "Ready when you are."

You tried to make your way down the berth, hitting the ground with a thud and scrambling to your feet as you sprinted towards the portal. _Knockout and Starscream,_ you think. _Knockout and Starscream. They’re here for me._

“Stay behind, (Y/N).” Optimus’ servo blocked your way, sweeping you back towards Ratchet. “It is too dangerous.”

“Ratchet can go and not me?!"

"Ratchet is far more equipped for battle than--"

"Ratchet's a fucking _medic!_ He's equipped to save your _afts!_ And that’s never stopped Miko or Jack or Raf, and that’s sure as hell not going to stop _me!_ ” You snap, dodging around his servo and making your way back towards the ground bridge. “I know they want something with me, and now we’re going to find out what.”

“You didn’t think to tell us this before?” Ratchet’s incredulous voice rings out, along with a low rumble of displeasure from Optimus. Your lips twitch in way of a frown, and you wipe your palms on your sweatpants.

“I was unconscious for a while, remember? And I’m pretty sure I told you when I called you in the alley!” _Besides,_ you think, _if I get in trouble, I’ll just stab them in the Achilles's heel struts like that one girl Ratchet told me about. Watch your back plates, Knockout._ You weren’t sure if that really happened, but it set a nice example of badassery you could follow if all hell broke loose. Granted, you had no weapons, but you’d figure it out as you went. This would be okay. You'd be okay.

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t. Why else would I be—” Ratchet snarled, taking heavy steps towards you. “Don’t go, (Y/N.) Don’t be a fool.” 

You shake your head, clench your fists, approach faster. You can’t look back now. This will be okay. “We don’t have time for this. I don’t know what they want and neither do you. Decepticons aren’t going to stop me from doing what I want." You take in a shaky breath, and smile back at them. "It'll be okay, guys. See you on the other side.”

You step through the ground bridge, Optimus and Ratchet protesting behind you, and find yourself face to pede with Knockout.

“What do you want from me?” You cried, kicking him, reeling from the pain spiking through your foot.

"I told you," Knockout snarled, looming his colossal body over you, servo arcing in to pluck you off the ground. _"Megatron requests an audience."_


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One big, red eye.

You were terrified.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, rushing headlong into danger. Now, though, you find yourself face to optic with Knockout, who had a terribly strong grip on your damaged, fragile body. “What are you even wearing?” He chuckles darkly, twisting and turning you to examining you through your servos.

“Clothes, dumbass. Where’s your little buddy?”

Knockout scowls, squeezing you in a way that left you breathless, shot discomfort up your spine. “He’s missing in action. Not like it’s any of _your_ business.”

You wheeze a laugh, hands searching his servos for purchase. This is all too reminiscent of not even a day ago, when he held you by your hair and you cried. “What does Megatron want with me?” Fuck this. Fuck this cherry red, _slate gray_ motherfucker holding you like a doll.

“An audience,” Knockout replies simply, as if that explains everything, before sliding his gaze past you, smile twisting, shark teeth unnervingly close to your face.

“Optimus! It’s nice to see you.” Starscream approaches from behind him, blaster trained on a ‘bot you couldn’t see. You turn, ignoring the pain that lanced through your body, heart beating like a drum in your chest, dancing faster and faster up your throat and stealing the air from your lungs. He’s aiming at Optimus. This was fine. This is okay. Prime’s a big bot, he can handle himself. You could figure out what he wanted, and if you ended up on Megatron’s ship than so be it. Ratchet and Optimus and Arcee and everyone else would be safe. 

“Shut up and tell me what Megatron wants,” you snarl, beating your fist on Knockout’s digits. “and leave him alone!” 

“Humans,” Starscream mutters, rolling his optics. “Ever the weak link. Take her back.”

The blood drains from your body. “Take me—?” Your voice cracks. “Fuck— _hell no_ — god damn you, tell me what he wants!” _Holy shit_ you did not want to end up on his ship! You wriggle harder— much to Knockout's amusement— as he turns you around, rocking you side to side in the most the most mocking manner. “Say goodbye, little fleshie.” 

"I..."

You catch Optimus' eye as he looks at you, with optics wild and desperate, a look warped a feeling you couldn't identify. 

Ratchet stood beside him, sword out, the look of utter desperation on his faceplate stealing your voice. 

You want to say something, anything, anything that would tell them you’re fine, but the pain making you grit your teeth must be _palpable_ it hurts so badly.

You hear the sound of clashing metal, a groan, and a shot before Starscream crashes into Knockout’s side, sending you three rolling, followed by a “sorry!” from Arcee. The Decepticon’s grip on you tightened and you huffed, light flickering through your eyelids as you went tumbling through the dirt, air pushed out of your lungs. You just could not catch a single fucking break today.

Knockout rose to his knees, pressed your face firmly into the dirt, leaving you gasping and wheezing for breath and you scrabbled at the ground, attempting in vain to wriggle your way out of the Decepticon’s grasp.

“Make a move and the fleshy gets it,” He snarled, his hold on you becoming alarmingly tight, your nerves shot and twitching.

“Optimus!" You screamed. "Shoot him!" Optimus stared back like a deer in the headlights. Knockout squeezed you harder in way of warning, and you groaned, huffing and turning to Ratchet. “I’ll be okay! Ratchet, please!”

Ratchet was just as frozen. “I— I can’t—”

“Arcee!” 

“I can’t just—”

_“Arcee!”_

She slowly shook her head, lowered her arm. Alarm pricked your fingers numb, rage colored your skin and you opened your mouth to bed them one more time but instead you yelped, suddenly finding yourself thrown into the backseat of Knockout’s vehicle mode, the ‘bot kicking up dirt as he revved his engine and sped off. You pounded at the back window, roaring, and Knockout pushed you into the trunk. “Stop that.” His voice reverberated around you, bass rattling the trunk. “Soundwave, activate the groundbridge in three.”

“What do you— Megatron, what does Megatron want from me?” You curled up as small as you could make yourself, scratching a fingernail into the small fuzz lining the floor of the trunk. “And don’t say an audience, asshole."

Knockout harrumphs, but purrs, “Now, what would Megatron want with the human that’s been getting so close to Optimus Prime?”

Your blood runs cold and your mouth dry, eyes flicker up to the back of the seat. “What makes me so special?”

“He says you’re different than those little ones. Optimus likes you.”

You snort despite yourself. “Alright, sure. Say I’m different— which I’m not—what does he think I’m going to give him? _Information?_ Would rather die.” 

“Figures.” Knockout’s probably rolling his stupid eyes right now. “Humans, always trying to play the hero.” He scoffs, making a sharp right turn, and you bark, head smashing against the side of the trunk. “But no. Information would certainly be nice, but Megatron has other plans for you.”

“Fucking watch it, you bastard,” you grumble, nails digging into the new ache in your head. It vaguely occurs to you you’re going to have to hang around Ratchet a lot more these days whenever you make it back. “Care to elaborate?”

You’re met with a low chuckle, then silence. You slump down in disappointment, goosebumps prickling your skin. “I don’t even know that much about Optimus.” The crack in your voice makes you wince, but you press on; “He’s a mystery. Everyone knows that. He likes poetry. He can dance. He—” you flounder, fists clenching with anger. 

You hate the moment it dawns on you what Megatron’s going for.

He’s not after information. He’s after you.

“Megatron’s going to use me as a bargaining chip.”

“Bingo!” Knockout chirps. “It was surprisingly easy to catch you this time around. Do you always trail after Optimus like that?”

You kick his seat. “Prime isn’t going to give you what you want.”

“Hey! Don’t shoot the messenger, fleshie. I’m not the one who’s going to have all the fun back on the ship. And besides,” Knockout slows down, voice turning malicious. “you and I both know he will.”

Before you have a chance to respond, Knockout ejects you onto a cold, metal floor. Two pedes meet your eyes and your gaze travels up and up, stopping at the stern expression on the Decepticon before you.

“Megatron.” you breathe, narrowing your eyes. “Did you get my message?”

Knockout snickers behind you. “Unfortunately,” Megatron replies after a beat, plucking you off the ground. “But it’s time for me to return the favor.”

He gestures to someone behind you, dropping you unceremoniously, painfully, to the floor again. “Soundwave, you know what to do.”

"What—"

You're never given the time to finish that sentence because you crash to the next floor like a brick, the sound of scattering tools louder than the ringing in your ears. Eyes fluttering in pain, you briefly catch the sight of a portal closing from the ceiling, and sit up.

You don’t know where you are, but.

A single red optic stares at you from across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo weeee this chapter is shit. I like the last line, but whooooooo weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee this chapter is certified Garbage(tm). 
> 
> you wouldn’t believe it, but the reason this chapter is so late and so terrible is because i spent a lot of time writing stories that read like bad one shots about blue popsicles, talking body, and hayley kiyoko.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jdph ryhu, vzhhwkhduw. Brx qhyhu kdg d sodfh lq wklv zruog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. So you may have noticed I missed a week. Well, I got a puppy, and had four days of testing. I'm *still* testing. Anyway... I'll be uploading two chapters to make up for it. Figure out the cipher if you can.

Starscream was _very sincerely_ grating Optimus’ nerves. He was prattling on with all his usual flair and drama, gesturing wildly and grinning. Whatever he may have been saying did not matter much (at least not to Optimus); he was more concerned with his inexcusable failure today, the way you had tried to command him and he did not move, the way he failed to prevent you from falling into the hands of the Decepticons.

Starscream was distracting him. He did not have time for _distractions._

“Starscream,” Optimus interrupted, narrowing his optics. “tell me where you have taken (Y/N).”

The Decepticon blinked at him like he wasn’t really quite sure what he had just said, or why Optimus had so suddenly decided to intrude on his monologue. “Where else would we have— what? No.” He raised an optical ridge, frowning. “Were you even listening to me?”

“No.” He, Ratchet, Arcee all admitted in unison, much to Starscream’s astonishment and subsequent outrage.

“That’s just rude!” He spluttered, looking quite offended.

Optimus caught Ratchet rolling his optics from the corner of his eyes before the mech turned and said, “I suspect they have taken her back to the Decepticon warship. That _is_ where most prisoners tend to end up.”

Arcee came up to join the conversation, snickering at Starscream’s tantrum behind them. “We can figure out the coordinates, get the rest of the team and storm the warship. Easy as a slice of earth pastry.”

“You know that the Nemesis is cloaked. We can’t just _groundbridge_ there.” Ratchet retorted, immediately looking nearly as irritated as the seeker pitching a fit behind them.

“We’ve snuck aboard once, we can do it again! We do it all the time, actually.”

“Then why in the Pit did you suggest groundbridging? You know we can’t just—“

_“Well if you would stop interrupting me—“_

Optimus felt himself relax watching them bicker, if only a little. He had reason to believe you would be all right, if the situation was taking a turn for the comical.

“We shall depart immediately. Optimus Prime to autobot base.” He presses a servo to his audials, eyeing Starscream’s increasingly fervent tantrum as he calls for a ground bridge. Within moments, the glowing portal appears, green light scattering over the four bots. Starscream has calmed slightly, instead choosing to angrily pout while watching the Autobots take the bridge back to base. Something twinges in Optimus’s head, the idea of something being off. Starscream, while cowardly and dramatic, is not usually so comically complacent. He readies his weapons just in case Starscream feels so inclined to make a foolish decision.

He will simply have to note this instance for later. You cannot wait for Optimus to play out his suspicions.

—-  
The second the portal closes behind Optimus, Starscream groans. “Finally! I thought he’d never leave.”

He smirks to himself, leaping into the air and taking on his alternate form, laughing maniacally for good measure. “Lord Megatron would love to hear this.”  
—-  
“For how longer will you continue to stare?” Shockwave’s antenna flutter and turn down, his eye burning a dull red in the semi-darkness.

“Uh,” you squeak, brushing away equipment sticking into your ass.

“Eloquent.” He responds, somehow managing to look irritated. “Remove yourself from the table.”

“Um,” you squeak again, feeling very much like a mouse under the foot of an elephant. “This is, uh, really a tall table and you know, I don’t think—“

With a whoosh of air, Shockwave sets you down rather harshly on another table of sorts, except this table has buzzing electrical straps on it. _Autobot_ sized buzzing electrical straps on it. For a second you're confused, because these bonds were clearly made for a creature much bigger than you-- but Shockwave pushes you down under one anyway and leans what you believe to be _all of his fucking weight on it_ as you get crushed under the pulsing chain. You cry out, kicking your leg at the heel of his servo as he secures the strap. "Get fucking _off of me!"_

Shockwave just to ignores you, instead examining you at length under his palm. It’s almost eerie the way he stares, head and antennae bobbing and dipping and rising with curiosity. You grip your sides, hissing, adrenaline waning and pain returning. Your sides are never going to get better at _this_ rate.

“You possess injuries. Interesting.”

That can’t possibly be good. You think, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Yeah, that tends to happen when robots drop you from hmm, let’s say, the second floor of alien warships. How could that possibly be interesting?” 

The image of Optimus’ face, gazing down at your bloody and bruised form, optical ridges narrowed with concern springs to the forefront of your mind, and you grit your teeth, blink it away before it burns itself behind your eyelids, before you’re forced to to face another obvious conclusion.

Shockwave turns away from you, instead examining the mess you made when Soundwave dumped you from the ceiling. “Are all members of your species so easily damaged?”

 _Did he just sass me?_ You recover from your momentary surprise, responding smugly with, “Do you always ask such dumb questions? You've been on earth for how long and you never thought to research it's inhabitants?” And for a second your smugness feels well deserved, because his antenna stiffened even though he doesn’t stop organizing the monstrous tools on the table. But when Shockwave pulls a particularly sharp beast of a tool off the table with an ominous _shing,_ the slide of metal on metal ringing shrill in your ears, your smugness no longer feels well deserved, and rather the catalyst for your destruction. _He's going to carve you into ribbons._ Why can't you ever just shut your mouth?

“Um, maybe you should put that down. Just a suggestion. Being tortured wasn't on my to-do list today."

He advances on you instead, tilting his head as his cyclopean gaze sweeps up and down your small frame once more. “You are in no position to be giving orders.”

“I’m not,” You huff, a broken laugh, struggling to keep your breathing even through the burning of your lungs. “but I won’t be your war pawn. I don’t break easy. And Optimus will kill you," you add as a sort of afterthought, but the threat clearly does nothing but irk him.

Shockwave chuckles, giving you the feeling he would be smiling if he could, simply responding: “We are hidden from much of the world. Prime will not find us here-- besides. The choice isn’t yours.”

You clench your fists. You know that Shockwave isn’t evil, or malicious— and you aren’t sure if you should find solace in that fact— he’s just ruthless. He simply takes the logical means to reach an end, whether it be following orders or his own personal interests; and right now, orders are to make you _scream._ Orders are to make you look like a broken doll Decepticons can shake around to make Optimus bend to their will.

They will use you to make Optimus kneel.

You square your shoulders as best you can and say with all the defiance you can muster in the face of thirty feet of unadulterated _danger:_ “I won’t give you want you want.”

Shockwave stops walking towards you briefly, looking almost disappointed despite the distinct lack of a face. He shrugs and says to you, “I am not asking permission.” before pressing the tip of a hooked knife against your skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, yeah, sorry if anyone was expecting some Good Soundwave Conversations *this* chapter. you also may be asking "where's the robot porn?" well, since i can't retcon optimus' and Ratchet's interacting w you anymore you just gotta wait till we bust out this joint and wait for sexytimes then. i *promise* you sweet sweet robot boner sexytimes are on their way.


	6. achilles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hundred haystacks.

Searching for you, Optimus learns, is like looking for a needle in a haystack— except there are several hundred haystacks and only one, incredibly tiny needle.

_“Tell me where you have taken (Y/N).” Optimus snarls, slamming Knockout by the shoulders to the nearest wall. Ratchet and Arcee stand guard behind him, closing in on both sides._

_“I really don’t know!” Knockout groans, mouth tripping over words he wasn’t quick enough to say. “And don’t scratch my paint, Prime.”_

_Ratchet snorts. “He’ll do a lot worse than scratch your paint if you don’t tell us where (Y/N) is.”_

_Optimus nods, pressing the barrel of his weapon closer to Knockout’s chin. The Decepticon growls, mumbles something inaudibly, then responds, “You know as well as I do Shockwave’s got hundreds of secret laboratories on this planet. You Autobots can search all you want: I don’t know which one your precious human is in and you’ll never know either.”_

_There’s a pregnant pause, thick and viscous, where Ratchet and Arcee share looks, before Ratchet puts a hand on Optimus’ shoulder. Optimus lets Knockout go, nearly shaking with anger as he lets him slide down the wall._

_“Megatron will regret this,” he murmured, optics flashing with blue lightning._

Optimus slipped away from his team a long time ago. 

They were holding him back, frankly: he realizes this is dangerous, but leaving you alone in the hands of _Shockwave_ is far more so, and it is not as if he would not have simply looked for you on his own anyway. To make matters worse, this is the tenth laboratory he’s checked personally, and _you are not here._

Optimus is frustrated. He is angry— for every minute your whereabouts elude him, he feels his anger grow, his spark pulsing furiously in his chassis. 

It is his fault you slipped through his servos, slipped into the hands of the enemy. The knowledge of what you are there for is not comforting, either, for you are their pawn; soft, moldable material in Decepticon hands. 

_“Optimus, we’ll find her,” Arcee says, but the look on her face gives away her doubts. “we’ve infiltrated Decepticon bases before. Remember the Predacons?”_

_Ratchet snaps, “Well do **you** remember that we were set up?” _

__

__

_Arcee opens her mouth to say something but instead turns sourly on her heel, rolling her optics as she calls to base. “We should go back and regroup. Seven heads are better than one, after all.”_

_Optimus nods. “I will follow you through.”_

_Perhaps,_ he thinks, stopping just short of a sigh, _this decision was too rash._ Perhaps he should have waited for his team after all.

He had been searching for hours now. You were nowhere to be seen, land or sky; Optimus searched known hideouts, unknown hideouts, any place with a trace of energon or a heat signature he could find. 

You weren’t in any of them. 

Optimus, in his frustration, violently kicks a nearby tree, watching it splinter and shatter. It flies into others with a loud thud, and for a moment he is satisfied witnessing the destruction of something that will not fight him back for once. 

But he thinks of you, gentle, sweet you, and seethes in his anger. You didn’t deserve this— you _don’t_ deserve this. He doubts he could imagine what you are suffering through. With that thought in mind, of you mangled and broken, Optimus stalks further into the cover of the woods, searching desperately for signs. 

He nearly misses the soft glow of a groundbridge in the distance in his search. Hope burns his spark brighter. 

“Ratchet,” he whispers, pressing a servo curiously to his audials. “I was not aware you knew my location.” 

“Are you kidding me, Optimus?! I had been calling you for the last half a cycle! First (Y/N) goes missing and now you? Where have you been, you mother fr—“ 

_“Ratchet,”_ Optimus smoothly interrupts, suppressing a laugh. “Did you open a groundbridge?” 

“I— er, no. Did— is there one there?” 

“That is why I asked, yes.” 

“Well then, don’t— hey! Hands off the controls.” 

“Ratchet—“ 

_“Hands off!_ Are you listening to me, Miko?” 

When Miko’s tinny voice starts to filter through, Optimus quickly says he will call if he is any danger and hangs up. 

He stares at the bridge for only a moment, feeling his chassis squeeze and his voice box stick, shocked and scared and angry all at once, a swirling storm ready to tear down mountains to find you. 

He steps through. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all I could do today ‘u_u  
> I’m really sorry!!! I hope this and upcoming chapters make up for my absence!!!


	7. bonus chapter!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To tide you over. Nsfw.

“So beautiful,” you whisper, cupping Optimus’ face, bouncing gently on his spike. “Such a good boy.” He hisses, writhes as you roll your hips, servos clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You fill me up so good, so thick,” you pant, and Optimus whines, hips thrusting up shallowly as you ride him.

“Let me touch you,” he begs, eyeing the swell of your belly, the soft curve of your breasts, and you murmur softly, “You know the rules.” Optimus strains against invisible chains instead, keens and bucks into the fingers you’ve slipped inside his dripping valve as you slow your ride on his spike.

“You look so pretty like this too.” Your hips grind further down on his twitching spike, your free hands trailing soft fingers along the ring you have fit snugly at the base. You look at him, panting and desperate under you and bounce faster this time, harsher, slipping your fingers out of his valve in favor of gripping the lines of his pelvis for leverage. You lathe with your tongue your fingers and find taste of transfluid delightfully bitter.

Optimus moans your name at the display, vocalizer crackling with static. He blinks sex-glazed optics at you, sobs, “Please, remove this internal device. I promise you you will not—“ He cuts himself off with a pained groan, shaking further with the effort of restraining himself. “You will not be disappointed.”

When you slip off his spike he keens Cybertronian, vocalizer bursting with static. Optimus looks desperately at you, opens his mouth to plead with you to be merciful— you feel far from it, despite you licking a stripe up Optimus’ valve and sucking the node before pulling off with a devilish smile.

You pump his silver spike with your hand, ghosting your lips over the pearl of transfluid and licking into the slit. Optimus’ cooling fans blast, and his hips buck into your mouth, shoots electricity down your throat. “You’re such a good boy.” You smile, squeezing the base of his poor spike roughly and pulling the ring off.

Perhaps you’re feeling merciful after all.

When you pull that ring off it’s like he’s broken free of chains. The second the ring hits the floor he’s on you, pushing your back into the mattress and slipping in without a second’s notice.

“Optimus, I didn’t say—“

“Quiet.” He growls deep, pretty blue optics darkened with lust. Optimus’ hips piston in you without mercy, servos bruising the softness of your hips as he fucks you into the mattress.

You cry out, gasp for air and throw your head back. Optimus presses his lips to yours in a kiss that steals your breath away, fucks into your sex in a way that presses at the bundle of nerves that drives your eyesight blinding white. He takes your mouth in a way that lets you know he may have had the ring on, but you’ve been his bitch from the beginning. He kisses you with the force of a sleeping giant, lets static dance where flesh and metal meet.

You moan into his lips, wrap your arms around his still-so-large waist and realize there is nothing you can do but hold on as his spike pounds you raw. Your fingers dip and trace the seams of his body, your own body buzzing as he groans heavy and thick into your mouth. You scream and moan with him, body rocking with the furious pumps of his hips. It’s too much and not enough, and he’s so thick and so wide even when he’s small like this, and dear god you feel like he’s going to tear you apart and you love it.

His vents blow out hot air, and Optimus seems be straining with effort, though whether he’s trying not to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for two days or not spill transfluid inside you never crossed your mind. Static surges through your bones, arches your back and burns bright stars in your vision. Optimus chants your name like a prayer, hips stuttering as he nears his release. “So warm,” He groans, breath hot and labored.

He fucks into you harder, forces you into a space you cannot go, spike pulsing hard before pressing in in one fluid motion, snarling an unintelligible version of your name as hot transfluid gushes out of spike and drips down your thighs. You come, too, crying a broken prayer that is Optimus, hands scrabbling for leverage as a galaxy bursts across your vision and static burns both your bodies red.

Optimus stills, looms over you panting. You opened eyes you didn’t know you closed, sliding a hand across his chassis as you wiggle your ass again. (Prime huffs, but doesn’t slide out.) “I want you to fill me up again.”

His engine purrs— you feel his spike re-pressurize and grin. “I want you to cum in me again. You always look so beautiful when you do.”

Optimus’ optics widen infinitesimally, but the harsh roll of his hips does not go unnoticed. “As you wish,” he rumbles, digging his servos into the flesh of your hips as his thrusting begins anew.


	8. chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullshit your conversations and pretend like everything’s alright.

“Do you remember how Jack did this?” You ask Optimus, currently seated on a complicated looking LED-screen boasting completely illegible (to you, anyhow) Cybertronian. You find yourself here, staring down at the decepticon warship groundbridge controls without the faintest clue of how to work it after sneaking Mission impossible style down the Nemesis’ corridors. 

Only it _would_ be Mission-Impossible style if the guy from Mission Impossible was sporting a possibly broken rib and a pipe covered in energon in the arms of a 30-foot mech pumping heat like a goddamn computer with too many apps open.

Uh, in any case, you have no idea what you’re doing. Optimus isn’t even paying attention to you; he’s fiddling with something glowing suspiciously bright on the screen and you’ve been hanging long enough with Optimus to know something is about to happen.

Sighing, you give the screen another glance: there are statistics and text scrolling by, bar graphs rising and falling, and some sort of ranking. Nothing that really interests you or anything that you could use, anyway. You don’t have your phone on you all the time like Miko and you can’t read anything it says.

The only thing you recognize is a button. At least you think it’s a button. It’s flat and digital but a stark red, and the child in you itches to press it. “Hey, Optimus, what do you think that button’s for?”

“I am not sure,” he says, much like a parent who isn’t very interested in what their kid is fiddling with because they’re too occupied with what they’re fiddling with. But Optimus shifts his body closer to you anyway, chassis bumping idly up against your back as if to block your path.

You huff, gnawing on your lip as you scooch back against him. “Maybe we should find out.”

“That is not advisable, unless you know what it button does.” He raises an eyebrow in typical Optimus fashion.

“I don’t, but I can’t just sit around here until you figure it out.” Optimus’ finger bumps gently at your face and you realize you taste blood again, so you wipe at your lip. “‘M gonna look around. Don’t wait up.”

“What—“ Optimus nearly snarled, venting a deep, rattling sigh. “You will stay here. I will not—“ He pauses, shutting his optics off momentarily as he tries to calm himself. “I will not lose you again, Y/N. You will stay here.”

The urgency in his voice brings you pause and your stomach twists uncomfortably. Swallowing your suddenly dry throat, you settle back against his chest and say “okay” as embarrassingly meek as possible.

An infinite amount of time compressed into an estimated five minutes passes, you uncomfortably silent and Optimus uncomfortably stiff. You don’t complain when his movements cause you to bump your head; your desire to complain wanes even less when Ratchet’s voice, crackly and bursting with static, screams out of the panel.

“Optimus Prime to Autobot Base. Ratchet, come in.”

 _“Optimus?”_ The audio fizzles out. _”—the frag are you two?— disappeared!”_

“We are on the Decepticon Warship. Requesting Groundbridge immediately.” He sounds so tired, you think, and place a hand on his arm gently.

_“You want me to what? Optimus, you know I can’t just—“_

“You can!” You burst out, probably louder than necessary. “I know you can! You did it before! With Jack!”

Ratchet’s silent for a moment, and Optimus cages you in a little bit more between his arms. _“The things I do for you two,”_ he mutters so quietly you almost missed it. _“Groundbridge incoming.”_

“We’re going home, Optimus.” You grin like a fool, ignoring the aching of your entire body as you stretch up and press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, curling up near his shoulder. “We’re gonna be okay.”  
————  
You are not okay.

There’s trails of dried blood from your mouth to your nose, your forehead to your eyebrows. You’re dirty and covered in thin cuts. Your nose is bruising. Your cheek is already purple.

It’s easy to ignore, really, especially when the image of Optimus getting shot in the back of the head keeps pressing itself to the forefront of your mind.

You card your fingers through your mussed up hair, blinking rapidly against the swell of hot tears threatening to spill down your face. At least if you cried you’d be a little bit cleaner.

You hang your head and laugh, broken and miserable. This mirror has seen a lot of you lately.

“Alright!” Your voice sounds loud and cheerful and fake to your own ears, echoing what threefold in the coldness of the bathroom. “Let’s go see get you patched up.”

So you leave the image of the broken kid in the mirror behind and hope they don’t follow.

You think maybe they do, because Ratchet angrily fussed over you like only Ratchet can, resisting the urge to slap you in the back of the head and hold you close.

He fussed over you when you two stumbled in past the portal, broken and bleeding and hurt.

He fussed over you when Optimus sparingly explained what happened, then fussed over Optimus too.

He turned furious when Optimus put you gently in his servos and stopped just short of begging for his help, instead forcing himself to calm and trust his best (only) medic.

Ratchet works in incensed silence in tandem with Ms. Darby, hovering over your shoulder till she leaves. He wraps bandages again after they bleed through and you have to tell him to be gentle. “You can’t jostle me so much,” you say, feeling the urge to shrink into yourself with how stricken Ratchet looks. “that’s why they’re bleeding so badly.” As you continue your voice dips into a awkward whisper. 

Ratchet pauses, blinks rapidly a little and slams the bandages he was holding down on the table, pinches the (nonexistent??) bridge of his nose and sighs.

You wonder how many times you’re going to end up back in the medbay because you’ve been beat by cons. Ratchet shoots you a withering, unhappy look when you voice this thought to him, wrapping your bandages perhaps a little bit tighter than necessary, saying in an even tighter voice, “You won’t have to worry about it. We’ll keep you safe.”

“Yeah, because that’s worked before.” you snorted, suddenly feeling uneasy and regretting the (true, to an extent) statement that came out of your mouth.

Ratchet halts briefly, hand hovering over some antiseptic. But it’s over before it started and he resumes working yet again, perhaps a bit unnecessarily. You don’t want to tell him he’s cleaned that cut three times already, instead saying softly, “I’m sorry. That’s not true. You’ve protected me before. Just… bad luck this time around.”

He glared at you again and lifted your tattered shirt to poke at your ribs. “Bad luck will get you killed.”

You didn’t say anything. He was right. You could have died today. But you also could have died any other day. You could die doing just about anything on this planet.

“If I’m going to die, I’d rather it be with you guys.” you try to laugh, but the very real reality of being speared by some ‘con nearly chokes you. It’s not how you want to go, but you’ll burn that bridge when you get there. 

Ratchet slides a hand down his face in exasperation and you feel miffed. “Guess I’m just saying all the wrong things, huh?” The irritation you feel seeps into your voice and into your fists, biting half moons into your palm.

“Just a little bit,” he shoots back, stiff shoulders and mock fire. “you don’t need to remind me you could come back dead, Y/N. I’m a _medic._ I know death like the back of my servos.”

“There are mechs— _people_ who care about you, can’t you—“ he chokes off, fumbles angrily on his words and throws an arm in the air, cursing under his breath. “can’t you try? for them?”

...right.

You sigh, wanting to curl in on yourself. You shouldn’t get mad at Ratchet because he cares. “I guess… we’re all a little fucked up. Or maybe we all fucked up a little. I dunno. I don’t really want to think about it.”

You glare at the floor like it will solve all your problems and then say, “I—I’m sorry.” Ratchet’s head whips up at your apology, the trembling in his arms momentarily ceasing. “I know I’m more fragile than you guys. I can’t keep running anywhere I want like I’m invincible.”

Ratchet looks so relieved for a moment you almost regret the next thing out of your mouth. “But on that note,” you add, “you can’t protect me forever. You just can’t. I know it’s your job and why you’re here, but I’m just as involved in this war as you are. Humans… humans come and go. I’m tougher than most and I won’t go down without a fight, but you said it yourself Ratchet. You know death like the back of your hand. You should know you can’t protect everyone from dying forever.”

He stares. He stares for a good long moment, venting deeply in and out before saying, “Okay. You’re right.” so easily you’re almost not convinced he’s letting it go. But then his lips curl in a devious smile and he says, “Good luck telling that to Optimus.”

You slap your palm to your face. Well, could be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read.
> 
> If you haven’t noticed, my update schedule and ability to write coherently has been deteriorating over the months. A lot of things have been happening to me lately— most recently my mom calling the cops on my dad and waiting three days for him to get out of jail. I don’t know what happened to him in there and I don’t think I want to.
> 
> I’ve considered dropping this story a lot. It’s not fair to you that I’m unable to write well anymore and it’s unfair to you to simply drop it when things get hard. I still want to, mostly because I want to write other things you probably won’t enjoy, but I know I have a bad habit of writing things and then becoming disinterested in my own work.
> 
> I want to fix that this year. I want to keep working on this as much as I don’t, because I owe it to you for standing by me even as I produced a heaping load of bullshit after bullshit, for making me feel welcome in a community I had just started and for being so supportive. I want to persevere through it all.
> 
> It’s hard. It really is hard. I want to keep your interest and write this story and make it good; but I don’t think I can do all that at once. But I’m going to finish. Come hell or high water I *will* finish this, whether it be this year or the next or the next.
> 
> In conclusion, thank you for reading tell me everything you know about Optimus Prime.
> 
> This isn’t the end. I don’t know when it will get here but we’ll see that final chapter someday.
> 
> TD;LR: bad things happening + natural lack of motivation = fewer chapters but i will finish it someday


	9. chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will not let harm befall you again,” He says, grimdark and stoic.

You cough and splutter under the heavy weight of Shockwave’s servo, glare at him as you writhe around to meet his optics. He lets up, peers with morbid curiosity at the spot he pressed on before letting his finger down again, idly examining the rest of you as he waited. The mech regards you as a work of art, cocking and tilting his head from side to side before declaring flatly, “My work is done.”

You found yourself surprisingly unharmed in your preliminary search, poked gently as bruises blooming on your skin and traced the crusty edges of cuts. Your face still hurt from where he flicked you, perhaps with the intention to bruise, and your scalp burned from his persistent “tugging” (read: ripping his finger away from your head as fast as he could manage) at the strands caught in the seams of his servo.

You ached, deeply and greatly, but the aftermath of your torture seemed mostly… cosmetic, intentional. Calculated, as all things Shockwave does are. 

Nonetheless, you are dazed, your preliminary sweep over your body revealing more cuts and bruises under tattered and ripped clothing. For the most part, any skin covered by tight clothing remained intact.

The thin swipes of flesh, in some places already scarring, pull and sting as you move, and the deep ache of your wounds pulse in time with your heart beat. 

“One moment,” Shockwave says suddenly, and your head snaps back faster than you can process his servo flying at your face.

He didn’t punch you, you don’t think— but your nose burns and aches like a motherfucker and something wet and warm is dripping down your face fast. Your hands fly up to staunch the bleeding and wipe blood out of your teeth. “What the fuck,” you manage to whisper, spitting a pinkish mixture of blood and spit as far away from you as possible.

Shockwave gives a curt nod, twisting and turning you like some sort of doll. “Satisfactory,” he rumbles, turning to a large screen and typing in something in Cybertronian.

“What the hell was that about?”

“The preparations are complete.” he said, head bobbing absently as he typed. 

“At least you were polite about it,” you sighed, watching blood pour out between your fingers. 

For a moment you are almost offended. The parallels between this moment and your scare with Knockout and Breakdown are momentarily infuriating, but you’re given no chance to reflect on that before a ground bridge spirals into existence and suddenly—

Suddenly, you’re literally thrown headfirst into the heat of battle.

Optimus is making a valiant stand, it seems. Heat whizzes past your ears in the form of whatever Cybertronians use in place of bullets, the clash and clang of falling mechs around you nearly as shocking as the literal shaking of the room around you.

The question _why is he here?_ is answered as soon as you think of it because _of course_ he’s here for you, _of course_ he’s here to rescue one of his humans, _of course_ he came alone because Optimus can never stop himself from dying. He can never stop himself from being the fucking martyr, even if it’s to save you.

And there’s far too many of them— far too many foot soldiers, pouring in from all sides, swarming like ants, blending smoothly with the broken darkness of the room. Optimus shoots anyway, and you scream— “I’m here, I’m here! Optimus, I’m here!” and when he sees you, he falters.

His lips begin to form your name and that split second of indecision, that single pause is all it takes for one fucking soldier to shoot him in the back of his helm. Your heart twists in your chest, crushes itself with the weight of your agony and even as you run to him you know you won’t be able to do anything. What will you do when you get there?

He is overwhelmed far quicker than you can scramble desperately over cooling bodies. It’s almost funny, really, and you think you’re laughing. It’s hard to tell over the pained groans of Optimus and the clangs of fists beating down on a weary frame and the dying. But just as you’re yanked back by an iron-clad grip around your waist, silver fingers yank Optimus’s head up, and you can hear the slight screech of them scratching his helm.

Your heart pounds in your chest like a jackhammer but you can’t find the will to speak, mouth running dry as you watch Optimus dangle loosely in the hands of the most dangerous mech you know.

“Optimus!” Megatron croons, tilting his head to search Optimus’s optics. “It’s been such a long time.”

Optimus chooses to stay silent, gaze shifting wearily from you to Megatron.

“Humans were always your weak point,” he sighs, and you find yourself flung to the floor at Optimus’s feet. He reaches for you and Megatron yanks him back, tutting in disappointment. “Ah ah ah, not quite yet.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, pulling yourself up from the floor. “what are you going to get from this?”

Megatron levels you with a stare, red optics glowing dangerously in the dim light. “Nothing that concerns you,” he growls stiffly. “Decepticons, take your leave.”

There’s a moment of silence, of shuffling and scraping and suddenly Megatron looks so much bigger, a puff of air from his pede stomping by your face whipping your hair in your eyes. “I said take your leave,” he snarls, “need I repeat myself to you again?”

He watches his soldiers as they file out, expression morphing from its usual irritation to sick satisfaction. “Finally.”

“Finally what?” You snap, a tide of irritation and fear shaking you to your core. “Do you know how ridiculously dramatic you are? You woulda won this war a long time ago if you could get your head out of your ass and—

“Quiet!” He roars, and Optimus hisses as Megatron’s grip becomes hard enough to press dents into the armor of his helm. “You have spirit. That is ...admirable, albeit bothersome. I can see why Optimus likes you.” He smiles, all teeth, and you can feel wave of nausea surge through your body. “But you no longer serve any purpose to me. Quiet down before I crush you beneath my pede.”

You remain silent, trembling on the cold floor.

“Finally,” he repeats, smiling cruelly down at the prone bot beneath him. “finally I may end your reign as leader of the Autobots.” His voice and lip plating curl in disgust as he throws Optimus to the floor, arm whirring to life as his weapon materializes. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this, Prime.”

You struggle to stand. “Like hell I’d let you kill him,” You snarl, but stagger, exhausted.

“You will never prevail, Megatron,” Optimus rumbles and relief sweeps through you like the tide. At least he’s well enough to say something heroic, you think, looking about the barren room.

Something flashes in the corner of your eye and you sneak a peek at Megatron, but he seems too preoccupied with monolonging to notice you scrambling away. 

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you observe the scene, hands scrabbling at what caught your eye as Optimus lays flat on his back with Megatron advancing on him, the whirr of his blaster louder than your pulse in your ears.

“Say goodbye, Optimus.” Megatron sneers.

You panic, chucking— the pipe, apparently — with all the force your puny little human body could muster. 

It pings pathetically off his back. You feel sheepish, but it _was_ an incredibly heavy pipe. It's hard to throw.

Megatron whips around to glare at you and before you can even say a well deserved “oh shit” Optimus surges forward, paint scraping across the floor as they roll. Megatron roars, fist flying up to knock metal off of Optimus’s helm with his blow.

Your fists clench at your sides.

Optimus crumples but hangs on, absorbing blows into his arm.

You eye the pipe.

Megatron presses his blaster up against Optimus’s torso, glowing a bright purple as he winds up a shot.

You bring it down on his face. 

Megatron bucks up against Optimus, surprised as energon leaks from his forehead and Optimus presses down on his shoulders.

You scream and pull the weapon up with all the force you can muster and smash back down, scream over the grind of the pipe against the floor, scream for yourself and Optimus and Ratchet and this god forsaken war, scream as you wind up one more shot.

“I’m going to _kill you!”_ You snarl, venom curling your fingers over the pipe’s lip. Megatron flails under your blows, bucking and writhing furiously until he simply twitches and bleeds.

Optimus takes the pipe as you arch it over your body, tossing it. You watch it skitter across the ground and scowl.

“I was doing something with that.”

Optimus’s vents whistle. His gaze is heavy. “Enough energon has been spilled for one day.”

He pulls himself up to his full height, wipes at the split in his lip. You briefly consider getting the pipe again— you know, for protection— but you’re suddenly distracted by 30 feet of living metal venting like an overheated computer speaking to you in a low rumble that makes your knees weak different than all the pain did.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, suddenly feeling very wonderfully small as the mech looms over you, panting with exertion.

“Indeed,” Optimus replies, but he’s looking at the sizeable dent in Megatron’s helm.

Your legs tremble and you’re not sure if it’s from exhaustion.

Luckily for you, there’s no time to dwell on your inappropriate attraction to badass looking mechs covered in energon. You still have to get off this ship.

You sigh and stretch, avoiding the scrutiny of Optimus’s gaze. You didn’t know you had such malice in you. You didn’t know a lot of things, really, and watching Optimus fight being attractive was now making the list of “things you knew.”

You _did_ know this was a terrible time to sort out your feelings, but when have you ever picked a better one? You shake your head to the clear the thought regardless, watching Optimus heave and pant over Megatron’s body.

“I didn’t… kill him, did I?” A cold chill runs down your spine. While he would definitely deserve it, you don’t think you’d want anybot’s energon staining your hands fluorescent blue.

Luckily for you, Megatron chooses this time to groan. While it’s a great indicator that rustbucket is still kicking against all odds, it’s also a considerably worse indicator that he is alive and probably going to wake up soon, if he’s even “asleep.” Quotes used liberally.

“Okay…” you start, feeling fatigue catch up to you. “Do you have a plan?”

Optimus gives you a deer-in-head-lights look. You are sorely tempted to hang your head and cry.

“Look at us,” you joke (the alternative was griping about how Optimus rushed in here without a plan B, but you don’t think you really needed that right now.) “just two more wrecked soldiers. Ratchet’s gonna be pissed.”

His mouth twists unpleasantly. He looks like he wants to say something, like correct you or lecture you but instead he scoops you up in his servo, cradling you close to his chest. “I will not let harm befall you again,” He says, grimdark and stoic.

Your heart beats a sad song in your chest, fluttering with concern. You sigh and lean back against his chest. “I’ll be okay,” you whisper, but you don’t think he heard you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like after David my writing just went to shit. I’m all over the place and it’s terrible. Does this chapter feel rushed to you?
> 
> However, this chapter is nearly 2,000 words to make up for my absence.
> 
> Leave me comments. Feed my desire for validation!

**Author's Note:**

> is it clear im new to this fandom and very much inspired by SS_Shitstorm?
> 
> leave me nice comments so I feel nice and upload


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